


to bring back the fire in her eyes

by holtzbabe, toastweasel



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, and save her from herself, the story of how rebecca and connie adopt a gay disaster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-28 12:08:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13271154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzbabe/pseuds/holtzbabe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastweasel/pseuds/toastweasel
Summary: “Hey, Becca,” the butch calls over the sizzle of the pan and the murmur of the radio. “How was the meeting?"“New pair of graduate students."“Well, we knew that.” Connie flips the burgers, glances back at her. “Do you think they’ll pass muster?”“One of them might do alright, but the other looks like an art school dropout. Her recommendations were impressive but so far her attitude is concerning.”“You’ve had worse, though."“I have,” Rebecca allows.or, a new perspective onall the love I never gave (before I left you)





	1. 2003

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [all the love I never gave (before I left you)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000574) by [holtzbabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzbabe/pseuds/holtzbabe). 



> Well, it happened. holtzbabe and toastweasel finally got their act together and decided to post the first bit of the "snapshots" fic they've been talking about on Tumblr for a while. This fic will follow Rebecca and Connie's perspective over the course of 'all the love' and give you some never-before-seen scenes in addition to a different point of view on some scenes you already know. Stay tuned for more!

**_2003_ **

Rebecca pulls her car into its spot to discover her partner is already home. This does not surprise her—she had stayed late on campus for the first lab meeting of the semester. She locks up her car and heads into the house via Connie’s basement workshop.

When she opens the basement door, she can hear the sound of her partner cooking in the kitchen. The radio is on; Connie is listening to NPR.

“Hey, Becca,” the butch calls over the sizzle of the pan and the murmur of the radio. Rebecca comes into the kitchen, coat draped over her arm, still carrying her briefcase. Connie is at the stove, making hamburgers in a pan. “How was the meeting?”

“New pair of graduate students.”

“Well, we knew that.” Connie flips the burgers, glances back at her. “Do you think they’ll pass muster?”

“One of them might do alright, but the other looks like an art school dropout.”

The butch looks interested. “Oh?”

Rebecca gives a brief description of the new, incredibly cheeky, and slightly arrogant grad student that has been hired into her lab.

Connie gives her a look. “She’s with you, though, so she’s gotta be smart. Wouldn’t have got in, otherwise.”

“We’ll see. Her recommendations were impressive but so far her attitude is concerning.”

“You’ve had worse, though,” her partner reminds her.

“I have,” Rebecca allows. Then she sighs and goes to put her case and coat away.

 

Connie comes home to Rebecca’s car in the drive, but a nearly silent house. She can’t hear the radio in the kitchen as she locks the basement door. She checks her watch—a little past seven. Maybe Rebecca came home with a headache. It would not have been the first time, especially recently.

She thumps up the basement stairs as quietly as possible (which is not very) and opens the door. Connie unzips her jacket, peeks into the kitchen. Rebecca is there, silently stirring a pot on the stove. This is unusual, considering Connie picked up her kitchen radio habit from the fact Rebecca always listens to NPR, the 60s station, or Italian music radio while she cooks.

“Hey, Becca,” Connie says carefully, stepping in and placing her helmet on the side table near the door.  “Long day?”

Her partner’s response is tight with frustration. “Little idiot set her work station on fire _three times_ today.”

The butch does not need context to understand who the ‘little idiot’ is. Rebecca has been in a tiff about this new safety hazard of a graduate student for two weeks. “Jesus. What number is that?”

“Ten. This week. It’s Thursday.” Rebecca rubs her neck and turns around to face her partner. She looks extremely tired. “I wouldn’t be so annoyed if the girl was not constantly in the lab. She only leaves to go to class.”

“To be fair, from what you’ve told me, that sounds a bit like you in grad school.”

Rebecca gives her a dour look over the top of her glasses. The butch chuckles and comes over, gently touches her hip. When Rebecca does not pull her away, she wraps her arm around her waist. “Did you give her the safety lecture?”

“Yes. She didn’t listen the first time, but after I threatened to have her removed from the lab, she seemed to straighten out a bit. There were no fires for the rest of the afternoon.”

“The threat of unemployment generally does that.” Connie reaches around her and stirs the pot. Rebecca is making tomato basil soup. She tries to sneak a taste but gets her hand slapped. The butch gives her partner a sheepish look and kisses her cheek instead.

Rebecca pats the hand settled on her stomach and Connie takes the hint, pulling away. She checks her watch. “When’d you get home?”

“Half an hour ago? I kicked Jillian out and locked up at six.”

“How long until dinner?”

“Another fifteen minutes, probably.”

“Mmm. I’m gonna go change and wash up. Can I get your opinion on something work related over dinner?”

Rebecca nods.

“Great.” Connie kisses her hair. “Be back in a bit.”

“Alright.”

The butch takes her helmet and heads out of the kitchen, leaving Rebecca with the soup on the stove and her thoughts.

 

It’s been a month, and Rebecca has come home after work with a tension headache pretty much every day for a week. Connie is wondering if she has started to regret signing off on Jillian Holtzmann working in her lab.

“She’s quite talented with mechanics and she’s obviously very intelligent,” Rebecca tells Connie over dinner one evening on October, “but God…” Rebecca rubs her brow. “She’s increasingly reckless and has a habit of not checking her work.”

Connie sucks gently on her teeth.

“Science is all about making mistakes but not at the cost of safety.”

The butch sighs. “She’ll get cancer before she’s forty.”

“She’ll give the rest of us cancer…” Rebecca pauses. “Hopefully I’ll be dead before that happens.”

“Don’t say that. I still want to be living with you when we’re seventy.”

The engineer rolls her eyes.

“It’ll sort out, Becca. You’ll wear her down, yet.”

 

Rebecca comes home with a roll of blueprints that she spreads over the kitchen table while Connie is cooking dinner.

“What are those?” the butch asks.

Rebecca beckons her over. Connie turns the stove on low, wipes off her hands on a towel, then comes over. She leans over the blueprints, taking them in with a soft frown. She pulls her reading glasses out of her pocket and puts them on. Then she looks at them again. As she gets farther into reading the plans, her eyebrows climb into her hairline.

“Holy shit. Is this—?”

“A miniature synchrotron?” Rebecca finishes. “Yes. This is are the progress blueprints Jillian turned into me today as the mid-semester benchmark.”

Connie whistles. “You weren’t kidding. If she gets this to work…”

The engineer nods sharply. “She hasn’t been building this, though. Until two days ago, she was working on something else. She had tossed her other project and was building the prototype for this this morning.”

“She came up with this in a _night_?”

“Or something similar. I’ve no idea how long she’s been thinking about this.”

“Jeez. Does the prototype work?”

Rebecca shook her head. “I could tell from the blueprints that there were some safety issues so I wouldn’t let her test it.” She taps the blueprint. “See here?”

Connie looks at the issue. “That supposed to be the deflection magnet?”

“Apparently.”

“It’s nowhere near the right position.”

“Just so. She tried to make something up on the spot, but I could tell she was bullshitting.”

“Jesus. One day this kid is either going to irradiate your lab or blow it up.”

“I think this error is less recklessness and more sleep deprivation.” Rebecca moves to roll the blueprints up. “I recognize talent when I see it.”

Connie smiles a little bit. “How long has it been since she’s set fire to something?”

“Three days. A new record,” the engineer replies sardonically.

“You should celebrate.”

“I did,” Rebecca says, snapping a rubber band around the blueprints. “I told her this was good work.”

“Hey now. _I_ never got praise from Dr. Rebecca Gorin.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes. “Yes, but I do believe you got something better.”

Connie grins and doesn’t argue.

 

One night in November Rebecca comes home so late that Connie almost thinks about calling her office and seeing if she has holed up to grade or something. The butch is in her workshop, carefully carving a wood block that will act as the stamp for their Christmas card this year, when Rebecca finally arrives. The scientist does not seem surprised to find her there as she unlocks the door to the basement.

“Dinner's in the microwave,” Connie says, not looking up from the line she is carving. When she does finally look up, Rebecca is still there. She’s leaning against the stair railing, watching her partner work. Connie pushes her glasses into her hair. “Hey. Good day?”

“Jillian asked me to be her mentor today.”

“In life or in queer engineering?”

Rebecca rolls her eyes. “Neither. For her master’s thesis.”

Connie pulls her glasses back down and picks up her carving tool again. “I’m assuming you said no.”

“I didn’t.”

The butch looks up at her over the rim of her classes. “You said yes?”

Rebecca nods.

Connie leans back in her chair, pushes her glasses up into her hair again, appraising her. “You haven’t ever taken on a thesis student, rumor about me notwithstanding.”

“I’m well aware.”

The butch pauses, then takes her glasses off her head and puts them in her shirt pocket. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

Rebecca dips her head and heads up the stairs. Connie cleans up the workshop, turns off her desk lamp, then goes upstairs. Her partner has put away her things and is waiting, stocking-footed with her legs and arms crossed, in front of the microwave for her dinner.  Connie wordlessly goes to the alcohol fridge under the counter and pulls out the gin and vermouth. Rebecca watches as her partner mixes a martini.

“Thank you,” she says softly when Connie passes it to her.

“Of course.” She puts the gin and vermouth away.

The microwave beeps. Rebecca takes a sip of the martini, then takes the plate out and over to the table. Connie grabs a beer from the fridge and then follows, sipping it as Rebecca pokes at the contents of her plate.

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” the butch teases softly as her partner mostly just pushes her food around. “I ate it well enough.”

The engineer sighs and sets down her fork. “I’m sorry, Connie, I’m just not hungry.”

“Ts’okay.” She reaches over and takes Rebecca’s hand. “Do you want to talk about what made you change your mind?”

Rebecca shrugs. “I’m not entirely sure myself.”

There it is. The reason for Rebecca’s quiet funk. She is not used to not understanding things. Scientific things, yes, that is her job to figure out the mysteries of nuclear engineering, but not knowing something about herself? That is something Rebecca almost never has issues with.

Connie gives her hand a gentle squeeze and knows, for once, that her questions will not help here. She stays quiet and lets Rebecca twist the stem of her martini glass around and around.

“Bed?” she asks, finally, when almost thirty minutes has passed.

Rebecca nods wordlessly and takes her plate to the counter, where she scrapes the untouched meal into a Tupperware container for Connie to take to work the next morning. Connie gently touches her hip, kisses her shoulder, then goes upstairs to take a shower.

When she comes into the bedroom, Rebecca is under the covers and on her side, staring at the wall. Or, rather, staring through it. She’s clearly lost in thought. Connie flips the lights off and comes to bed. Rebecca looks briefly over her shoulder as Connie’s weight depresses the bed.

“Not reading?” she asks Rebecca gently.

“I can’t focus.”

Connie frowns in concern. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Rebecca shakes her head then leans forward and turns off the lamp. To Connie’s great surprise, instead of settling that way to sleep, her partner rolls over and nestles into her. Connie’s heart breaks a bit in that moment; for Rebecca to seek such comfort when upset means that she is more lost than she lets on.

Wordlessly Connie gently encircles her waist with her arm, holds her close. She rubs her back. Rebecca’s eyes close and she rests her forehead against the butch’s chest. It’s only after she hears Rebecca fall asleep that Connie falls asleep, too.  

Rebecca seems back to her usual self the next morning. The engineer kisses her partner goodbye and tells her that she’ll be home at the usual time. Connie nods, and when she gets home, Rebecca is cooking in the kitchen with the radio on as if nothing had happened the night before.

Connie doesn’t bother her, knowing she will tell her when she is ready. Rebecca never tells her, but Connie puts it to the back of her mind as an isolated incident. They move on with their lives.

 


	2. 2004

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We didn't forget about this fic! :) A short chapter, but we've decided to divide it up by complete years so...
> 
> Stay tuned for more!
> 
> xo Maddie

**_2004_ **

Since the start of the new semester, Jillian has been making a lot of mistakes. Rebecca notices them, just as she notices the large bags under her eyes and the fact that she is more clumsy than normal.

It is none of her business why the grad student is this tired. It _is_ her business that her evident exhaustion is making her more than a safety hazard than normal.

“Fuck!”

Rebecca looks up from her own work. Despite her protective gloves, Jillian has managed to shock herself with someone on the prototype she is making. She’s sucking on the spot on her arm.

“Language,” the engineer chides.

“Sorry…”

This is the third time today. Rebecca checks her watch; it is almost time to pack up, anyway. She stands and strips off her gloves. “Jillian.”

Jillian looks up. “What?”

“Finish up, if you would.”

The blonde sighs and slumps back from her work. “Alright.”

Rebecca waits until she is packed up and has grabbed her things before chivvying her out of the lab and locking the door. Rebecca has to pick something up from her office before she goes so she says semi-curtly to her student, “Good evening, Jillian.”

“G’night, Dr. Gorin.”

Jillian plods in the opposite direction, towards the fire stair, and Rebecca goes to the office. She thinks about Jillian’s pervasive exhaustion on the drive home and tries to convince herself she is right to worry.

 

Rebecca decides the solution is to close the lab on time instead of running over as she usually does. She generally will stay late in the lab until she reaches a good point, but with Jillian occupying the lab for as long as she possibly can, Rebecca begins to cut herself short at five o’clock. It wreaks havoc on her productivity, but maybe this will force Jillian get some sleep.

After a week like that, Jillian doesn’t appear any more rested than before, but she is noticeably more irritable about being cut off. Rebecca goes back to their old schedule in resignation.

She tried.

Eventually, Jillian mentions offhandedly that she has been working late shifts at a bar. Rebecca, though displeased, can only tell her to make sure the job does not interfere with her work at the lab.

The warning seems to help. Jillian remains fatigued, but she pays closer attention to what she is doing in the lab and her accident count goes back down to a slightly more manageable state.

 

In March, Jillian comes into the lab one morning with a new hairstyle and a new attitude to match.

Rebecca doesn’t comment on the hair; it is not her business. She thinks it might be more of a fire hazard than before, with so much uncontained hair lollygagging on the top, but Jillian proves her wrong with even fewer hair fires than before. Perhaps she is more protective of it, now.

The attitude poses a bigger problem. Jillian is incredibly moody, sometimes peacocking around the lab and sometimes moping, with nothing in between. Rebecca doesn’t know what to do with her.

“Sounds like she’s figuring herself out,” Connie says with a smile.

“I would appreciate it if she ‘figured herself out’ on her own time,” Rebecca says, and sighs. She supposes she can’t be too judgmental. However prone to dramatics Jillian is, this kind of behavior isn’t atypical among grad students her age. Rebecca remembers her twenties.

She turns her head and lets Jillian act as she pleases, only interfering when she gets insufferably cocky and needs to be reminded of her place. There are some things that just won’t do.

 

Jillian returns to her home in Michigan for the summer. It’s an adjustment to get used to how quiet the lab is without her. To say Rebecca misses her would be a leap, but by the time September comes, she is looking forward to seeing her again. Connie teases her about it.

The break seems to have done Jillian well. She seems more stable and begins to focus on her thesis.

Rebecca wonders what is next for her.

“Will you be staying to complete your doctorate?” she asks one day. It is perfectly reasonable and not unprofessional to ask such a question, she reminds herself.

Jillian appears to contemplate for a fraction of a second. “Okay,” she says.

All Rebecca can do is blink at the response. Was that the extent of her deliberation? Has she not given the matter any prior thought? What would she have done had she not asked?

She does not voice her concerns. Rebecca believes that MIT is the best place for Jillian to continue her research, a believe that is strengthened when she turns in her thesis in December. It’s a complete mess and full of errors, like a child slapped it together overnight, but the sheer  magnitude of her theories and the _impossibility_ of what she’s managed to create...

Jillian, for all the mayhem she causes, may just be one of the most brilliant minds Rebecca has encountered in all her years. With the proper guidance and observation, her ambition and way of achieving the impossible could lead to contributions to the field that would change the very way they understand the universe.

And, unrestrained and unmonitored, she may just bring about the end of the world.

 

 


	3. 2006

**_2006_ **

“Jillian came out to me today.”

Connie chokes on her beer. They are at Jack and Andrea’s, at a party for Jamie’s thirty-third birthday. It’s a Thursday after work, but Sam and Max’s wedding is the same weekend, so a Thursday birthday celebration it is. Connie had picked Rebecca up at MIT after work and they had ridden over to Jack and Andrea’s house in Somerville. Rebecca had been quiet on the ride, even for Rebecca Gorin standards. Now Connie knows why.

The butch thumps herself on the chest to clear her airways and croaks, “She _what_?”

“She came out to me.” Rebecca pauses and spins the neck of her beer bottle in her hand. “In her own way, I suppose.”

“What did she say?”

“She didn’t want to go to her Quantum Mechanics class.”

“I never wanted to go to Quantum Mechanics either,” Connie interrupts cheekily. “Professor Simmons is a dick.”

Rebecca gives her wife a remonstrating glance over her glasses. “He may be a misogynist, but that’s not the reason. There is...a woman in the class. A woman Jillian has _known_.” Rebecca is too dignified for air quotes, but they are there in the inflection of her voice.

Connie raises her eyebrow. “Interesting. Did you suspect…?”

Rebecca shrugs and looks pensively at the crowd of Dykes in Jack and Andrea’s kitchen. “She dresses the same way I did when I was that age.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Although I forwent the overalls and ripped jean aesthetic.”

Connie follows Rebecca’s gaze to where Jessie, in all of her punk rock glory, has her hand slipped into the back pocket of her partner Theo’s jeans.  “So like if you and Jessie had a fashion baby?”

Rebecca’s lip curls in distaste.

“Or not.” Connie puts a comforting hand into Rebecca’s back and rubs a soothing little pattern in the small of it. “Do you think she’s a dyke or swings for more than one team?”

“It’s—”

“None of your business,” Connie finishes. “Got it.”

“What’s none of your business?” Max has come over, clutching a glass of cranberry juice leftover from the sangria. Ever since she started taking Lexapro, she’s stopped drinking.

Rebecca presses her lips together and acts like she did not hear Max’s cautiously friendly question. Max is clearly trying to make amends, but she is not ready for that. She still blames her for the fact that Al is not at the party. It’s only been two and a half months since Al died and they had a blowout fight about it. She still can’t believe Max didn’t tell her about—

“Becca’s got a potential baby dyke in her lab,” Connie says, interrupting her wife’s train of thought. When Rebecca scowls at her, Connie shoots her a frown back, a frown which definitely means they’ll be talking about this later. Rebecca’s nostrils flair but she doesn’t comment further.

“Félicitations,” Max jokes weakly. She’d have to be thick to miss the exchange between the two of them. “When you gonna bring her ‘round here like Wills did with you?”

Rebecca rolls her eyes. “That’s not going to happen. Excuse me.”

She removes herself from the conversation under the guise of getting herself and her wife another drink.

“Sorry, Max,” she hears Connie say. “She’s still angry with you.”

“I get it,” Max says softly. There’s a pause, then, “You are still coming to the wedding, right?”

“Course we are. We wouldn’t miss it for—”

Rebecca doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation. Her gaze falls out the windows, onto the porch where Jack and Jamie are tending to the grill together. Her stomach twists.

It was, until two months ago, Al’s grill.

She can’t help but think of how much Jillian reminds her of Al, especially recently. Jillian’s been all over the map recently; moody, cocky, suspiciously quiet, then suddenly almost manic with her energy. She’s been stopping by the lab in the summer to fiddle and fuss even though the school is not paying her to be there; like she needs to be kept busy least her demons catch up with her.

Rebecca’s stomach twists again and she slips down the hallway and out the front door. She needs fresh air. She needs quiet. She needs to focus, to recenter, to think, and to remember that Jillian’s personal life is none. of. her. goddamn. business.

It’s none of her business.

 

Rebecca doesn’t know what to do with Jillian.

Ever since the day she came out, she has been visibly angry, stomping around the lab like a child, throwing dangerous materials around without care, and giving Rebecca attitude. Well, she tries to give Rebecca attitude. That lasts approximately thirty seconds before Rebecca reminds her whose lab it is.

Rebecca is certain the change in mood has something—if not everything—to do with the woman in Jillian’s class. Her anger is far worse on Thursdays.

This is unacceptable. Whatever is happening in that class, it needs to stop before her lab gets blown up as a casualty.

One morning, she raps sharply on Dr. Simmons’ open office door and steps inside, crossing her arms. “A word, Richard?”

He closes the book on the desk in front of him. “Rebecca! Look at you, venturing outside of your lab.”

“It’s Dr. Gorin,” she snaps, and bites back a comment about how he lost all right to camaraderie when he stood against her in her departmental scandal so many years ago.

“Apologies, _Doctor_ ,” he says, voice challenging. “What can I help you with?” He puts emphasis on the word ‘help.’

“I would like to know what on earth you are teaching in Quantum Theory that has my...that has Jillian Holtzmann returning to my lab in complete fury.”

He raises his eyebrows with an amused smirk. “Has your protege been giving you trouble, Professor? Miss Holtzmann has been a perfect angel in my class.”

“And by that, I suppose you mean she’s been keeping her mouth shut? After all, I know that is how you prefer women.”

Dr. Simmons splutters, proving Rebecca’s point. “What are you implying?”

“I don’t believe I was implying anything. I thought it was obvious that I was addressing your blatant misogyny.”

Dr. Simmons stands, clearly angered. “Listen here, I will not allow you to come into my office and start something. What else do you want me to say? Holtzmann hasn’t said a word in class all month. It’s a welcome change from her usual antics. You must be keeping her on a short leash this year, Gorin.”

Rebecca steps further into the room. “She is not my _pet_ ,” she spits.

Dr. Simmons laughs. “Sure. We gonna have another scandal breaking soon, Rebecca?”

Rebecca, though thrown, doesn’t let her composure slip. “Excuse me?”

He watches her smugly. “You haven’t heard? Don’t think people have forgotten what you’re like. This is all seeming a little familiar, hm? What does Connie Williams think about your little admirer?”

“My _wife_ is none of your concern, and not a part of this conversation. The fact that you, or any member of this faculty, would think that of a mentor-student relationship sickens me.”

“All I’m saying is maybe you should pay more attention to what people are saying about you instead of pretending you’re above the rest of the faculty here.”

“And maybe,” Rebecca says, her tone biting, “you should spend less time gossiping around a water cooler and focus on publishing your mediocre research in an effort to remain relevant. The rest of us are trying to decide whether or not you have contributed anything worthwhile to the world.” She makes a show of checking her watch. “Tick tock, Dr. Simmons.”

Richard’s expression could spoil milk. “You’re not getting any younger either.”

“True, but some of us have labs that are actually still producing viable research and products applicable to the world at large.”

“Whatever,” he mutters, face going red. “Get out of my office.”

“With pleasure,” she says, and turns on her heel, departing before he can say another word.

When she gets to the lab to unlock the doors, Jillian is, of course, leaning against them waiting.

“Morning, Doc,” she says as she straightens up and moves so Rebecca can access the lock.

Jillian looks visibly calmer today for the first time in weeks. She’s wearing a pendant on a thick chain around her neck, clearly handmade, a U spiked through with a screw. Rebecca gets the pun immediately and her mouth quirks up. How fitting for a morning such as this.

“I didn’t take you for a jewelry person.” She pushes open the lab door and steps inside.

Jillian follows after her. “This isn’t jewelry so much as it is a message.”

Rebecca almost laughs. Instead, she nods once. “It suits you.”

“You want one?” Jillian jokes.

Rebecca pictures Richard’s face. “Yes,” she says before she can stop herself. She has a moment of regret—what will people think?—but then reminds herself that that is the whole point. Her reputation has clearly been slipping if such outrageous rumours are circulating.

It is time to remind the department who they’re dealing with.

When Jillian brings her an identical necklace the next day, Rebecca removes the chain and fashions the pendant into a brooch. She pins it to her lab coat and vows to leave it there until everyone remembers just exactly who Dr. Rebecca Gorin is.

 

Jillian’s surprised—and smug—mood, and the good humor that comes with it, does not last for long. By the end of October, she’s returned to her moody ways. She goes from angry and volatile to quiet and withdrawn. She does not talk, which is unlike her.

November slips by and there are no mentions of a trip home to Michigan for the holiday. No request for leave passes over her desk for Jillian. Jillian just comes into the lab, puts her head down, and works.

It is not like her. Something is not right.

Rebecca keeps her ears open, but there is nothing on the grapevine that explains Jillian’s behavior. She fingers the brooch her mentee made her and wonders, idly, if the ex Jillian has in her class is the reason for the sentiment, or if Jillian, too, has heard the rumors.

Her nostrils flare at the thought. God help her fellow faculty if that is the case. She will not be kind.

 

Rebecca comes home late. Connie had been home for hours. When her wife finally comes in the door to the basement it is nearly nine. The butch is in living room with her feet propped up on the coffee table. Rebecca normally would tsk at the sight; her silence makes Connie look up from her periodical.

“I thought you were only going in for a few hours?” the butch calls as Rebecca puts down her case and undoes her coat.

“Jillian came in about half past ten,” her wife replies brusquely, smartly tugging off her mackintosh. She goes to hang it up in the hall closet.

Connie blinks and stands up, tossing her periodical on the coffee table. Rebecca comes in from the hall and sighs in such a way that it instantly makes the butch close the distance between them and wrap an arm around her waist. When Rebecca turns into the embrace, her concern grows.

“What’s wrong?” Connie says softly, bringing her free hand up to cradle the back of Rebecca’s neck, where she gets her headaches.

The engineer sighs again and slides her arms around her wife, resting her face on her chest. “Nothing.”

“Becca…” The tone in Connie’s voice implies she doesn’t believe her for a second.

Rebecca huffs and pulls back. “Something isn’t right.”

“How so?”

The engineer pulls away; Connie lets her go. “Jillian normally goes home for the holidays.”

“And she hasn’t this year?”

“No.”

“Can’t afford it, maybe?” Connie asks, and when Rebecca starts for the kitchen, she follows. “She’s a grad student now. Might just not be in her price range this year.”

“In my experience, most grad students go home for at least one holiday,” Rebecca replies sternly as she crosses into the kitchen and opens the fridge to pull out the plate of food Connie had carefully prepared and wrapped for her. “Jillian has gone home for neither Thanksgiving nor Christmas.”

Connie leans against the counter somberly. “You think she got kicked out?”

Rebecca shakes her head. “No. Well…I don’t believe so.”

“But you’re worried about her?”

Rebecca inclines her head, then and unwraps the cellophane from her plate and puts it in the microwave.

“Why are you worried about her?”

“Why do you think?” The engineer rubs the back of her neck and is quiet as the microwave whirrs. Connie is quiet, too, waiting for her to speak. Rebecca sighs. “Honestly, I can’t stop thinking about Al.”

Connie inclines her head, uncertain about the non-sequitur. “What do you mean?”

“Since she died, I’ve been thinking about the times...in between.” Connie nods slowly. Rebecca sighs again and slowly rolls her neck out. “Max told me she withdrew. That she spent a lot of Christmases alone.”

“You spent a lot of Christmases alone, too.”

“By my own choice,” Rebecca reminds her. “Al’s depression and addiction kept her from seeking the help she needed for many years.”

“You think Jillian’s depressed?”

Rebecca’s answer is cut short by the beeping of the microwave. Rebecca fishes her food out, swearing softly as she touches a hot spot on the plate. As she takes it to the table, Connie goes to fix her a glass of water. When Connie comes over and sets it down next to her wife’s plate, Rebecca is playing with her food, not really eating it.

Connie sits next to her. “Becca? You never answered. Do you think Jillian’s depressed?”

The engineer sets down her fork in a huff. “I don’t know.” She pauses, stares at her food. “Her self-deprecation is similar to Al’s. She makes references to alcohol in a very similar way but…” Another sigh. “It’s none of my business.”

Connie slides her hand behind her rubs her thumb in the small of her back. “But you want to make it your business.”

Rebecca presses her lips together and doesn’t respond.

“Becca, it’s okay to care about people. Jillian’s been in your lab for three years. She’s basically your protege. I’d be surprised if you _didn’t_ care about her by now.”

“Personal life—”

“Becca, you know damn good and well that that rule is meant to be broken.”

 Rebecca sighs and leans back, into her touch, into the chair. “I know. I already broke it today, anyway.”

“How so?”

“I mentioned you.”

Connie raises an eyebrow. “You mentioned me?”

“And I drove her home.”

Connie is quiet for a moment, evaluating the new information. “How did that happen?”

“I was tired,” Rebecca says softly, “she made some comment about getting home to family and I—didn’t think.”

“I see.” The butch pauses, then moves her hand around her side. “And how are you feeling about that?”

Rebecca shrugs. “She wants to meet you.”

Connie chuckles. “Is that so?”

The corner of Rebecca’s mouth twitches up at the warmth in Connie’s voice. She ducks her head and nods.

Connie laughs and leans over to gently press a kiss to Rebecca’s hair. “We could make that happen. I’ll drop by one day and blow her mind.”

Rebecca scoffed softly. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Connie smiles anyway and gives her a squeeze, then removes her hand from around her and instead settles it on her knee. “You drove her home, huh?”

“Yes. I told her not to come in tomorrow, but I know she’s going to try.”

Connie pauses. “Do you want to bring her here? Tomorrow? If she tries?”

The engineer’s head snaps up and looks at her wife sharply. “What?”

“It’s not like we are having anyone over, anyway,” Connie says softly. “Jack and Andrea are in Chicago and Max and Sam left for Baltimore yesterday. If she needs a place...”

Rebecca is quiet. “I’ll need to think about it.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want her here, Becca,” Connie says softly, and gives her a gentle kiss on the cheek. “But if you want to go in, I won’t mind.”

“Even if it disrupts your favorite Christmas morning routine?”

“I’ll live,” Connie replies dryly, and gives her another kiss under the jaw. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Alright.” Rebecca picks up her fork again. “I’ll finish up here.”

Connie smiles and stands, giving her a third and final kiss before heading upstairs. When she gets out of her shower, Rebecca is curled up in bed, facing the wall, feigning sleep. Connie lets her do so.

 


	4. 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! Look at us go!

**_2007_ **

“Maybe she needs something like this.”

Rebecca glances over at her wife. They are standing in their usual place by the kitchen door, backs against the wall, quietly watching the group. The comment had come out of nowhere. “Sorry?”

Connie gestures with her beer out at the room; it’s a little past midnight, the dawn of the new year. Jack and Jessie’s partner Theo are arguing lightheartedly over the finer points of the upcoming Super Bowl. Sam and Max sitting on the couch in the connecting living room, Sam with her legs draped comfortably over Max’s lap; they are deep in conversation with Jessie and her other partner, Sarah, about something neither of them can make out. Erika, Jamie, and Andrea are in a huddle by the stove, talking about something that looks pretty serious. Jacqueline is holding court with most of the rest of the attending Dykes at the kitchen table.

It’s a fairly normal scene, as Dykes on Bikes parties go. Even Rebecca, who doesn’t really like people, or crowds of any type, has grown comfortable with the usual attendees. She still leaves the parties drained, but she’s civil enough, and talks to most people who approach her for a conversation.

“She doesn’t really have friends, does she?” Connie asks, and when Rebecca shoots her a quizzical look she clarifies, “Jillian. She seemed very lonely.”

Rebecca hums and considers the point over a sip of her martini. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” she finally allows, as the only time she knows Jillian spends out of the lab is at her bartending gig.

“In Boston, without her friends, family…maybe all she needs is a little company.” Connie pauses. “A couple of fellow dykes who get her.”

“What are you getting at, my love?”

Connie shrugs in that way she does when she has something to say but knows Rebecca won’t like it.

Rebecca sighs. “You want to bring her to a party, don’t you?”

Connie shrugs in a way that definitely means yes. “I just thought it might be good for her.”

“She’s not a prospect or the partner of a group member,” Rebecca reminds her.

“I know.”

“Then she shouldn’t be coming to Dyke parties.”

Connie sighs, and looks so dejected that Rebecca realizes she might have been too harsh. She presses her lips together and looks over her group of friends.

“Perhaps you should reach out to her,” she says after a moment. “She did seem to connect with you.”

Connie glances at her. “And that wouldn’t bother you? That connection of personal and lab life?”

“As you say,” Rebecca murmurs, and trails off as she thinks about her own lonely days outside of the community, without any friends beyond her female colleagues to speak of, “it might be good for her...”

 

Rebecca never leaves early from the lab, ever. But for today, she can make an exception. She has a date with her wife for their anniversary; their first anniversary as a married couple.

She stops work and packs up her briefcase. She walks over to the desk where Jillian is working and drops the keys against the phenolic resin surface. “Please make sure you lock the lab by eight, Jillian.”

Jillian looks up at her in shock, one blue eye magnified horrendously by the attachment she has on her yellow glasses. “Wait, what? Where’re you goin’?”

“Home. Don’t make me regret putting you in charge of the lab.”

Jillian flips up the magnifier and peers at her. “Why? You sick?”

Rebecca shakes her head. “No, I just have some personal business I have to see to at home.”

“Woah. Is it Connie? Is she okay?”

Rebecca sighs. Sometimes she regrets telling her protege about her wife.

“She’s quite well,” she says in a clipped voice. “Please be here to open the lab at eight.”

She turns on her heel to leave the lab. Jillian stares at her for a few moments, gears clearly working in her head as she tries to figure it out. Then, abruptly, she lights up and scrambles off the stool and pushes through the double doors of the lab with a clatter.  

“Holy shit, is today your anniversary with Connie?!”

Rebecca turns around and rolls her eyes, then gestures down the hallway with her briefcase. “Please, say it louder.”

Jillian, because she’s a little shit, lowers her voice to a stage-whisper and repeats, “Is today your anniversary?”

“I am leaving now,” Rebecca says.

"It is, isn’t it?” Jillian says with glee. “Wait, so is 'personal business' getting busssaaay with your wife?"

Rebecca levels a glare so severe that it would demolish any of the other grad students. Jillian just nods, smile not faltering.

“Yeah, alright, that one was pushing it,” she says giddily. “Not there yet, gotcha. We’ll get there.”

“I certainly hope not,” Rebecca says tiredly. She can feel Jillian’s excitement radiating all the way down the hallway as she departs.

“See you tomorrow!” Jillian calls.

 

One afternoon in April, Connie strolls into the lab like she owns the place. Jillian is so focused on her build that she doesn’t realize she is there until she hears her greet Rebecca. She looks up, one eye grossly magnified by the lenses clipped to her yellow-tinted goggles.

“Hey kid,” Connie says with a grin. “How’s it goin’?”

Jillian shoves the goggles up into her hair. “Connie! Hey! What are you doing here?”

For some reason Connie and Rebecca think this is hysterical. Connie laughs and Rebecca hides a smile by ducking her head and looking at her research material on her work station.

“What?” she asks, blinking. “Did I say something funny?”

“It’s a long story,” the butch says with humor in her voice. “Why don’t I tell you over lunch? I owe you a ride.”

Jillian’s eyes go comically wide. “On your bike?”

“If you still want to,” Connie says, even though she thinks she knows the answer. “Is now is a good time? Think your boss’ll let you out for a bit?”

And no kidding, Jillian actually looks over at Rebecca for permission. Connie chuckles. Jillian looks back and seems to get the joke.

“I’ll just...secure everything real quick,” Jillian says. “Make sure there are no accidents while I’m gone.” She removes her goggles entirely and glances over her project fleetingly. “Looks A-okay.”

One of the other grad students mulling around, a younger-looking girl, a first-year graduate student most likely, slides up beside Jillian as she’s stripping off her gloves.

“Um, Holtzmann?”

Jillian barely glances at her. “Yeah, Mel?”

“Do you think, maybe, um, you could possibly look over, um, my prototype? I want to make sure it’s perfect before I take it to Dr. Gorin, and you’re so amazing…” The girl blushes, tripping over her words. “Amazing at what you do, and I, um, I just thought—”

“Sure, I’ll give it a look when I get back,” Jillian says. “I’m just heading out for lunch.” She hooks her thumb in Connie’s direction.

The girl seems to notice Connie for the first time and her eyes go wide. “Oh! Okay! Um, sure, I’ll, um, let you go...do that...and I’ll talk to you when you get back?”

Jillian smiles at her briefly. “Sounds good.”

“Thanks, Holtzmann!” Red-cheeked, the girl skitters off.

Well, they can discuss _that_ later, Connie thinks in amusement.

Jillian grabs her jacket and the two of them head out of the lab. As they walk towards the stairwell, Connie glances at her.

“Hey, I never thought to ask—what name do you like to go by?”

Jillian pauses for a moment before answering. “Um...actually, I sorta...I sorta like Holtzmann better than Jillian.”

“You got it, Holtzmann,” Connie says warmly. “And your pronouns?”

Holtzmann smiles. “She/her is fine. Thanks.”

“Cool. I’m she/her, too.”

The clatter down the fire stairs, Connie’s boots loud on the concrete staircase. It’s chilly but honestly rather decent, all things considered. Boston is doing a fairly decent job of clawing itself out of winter this year. Despite that, as soon as they step outside Holtz stuffs her hands in her pockets, and Connie pulls on gloves.

“You ever ridden a motorcycle before?” Connie asks as they head towards the metered parking.

Holtzmann, who is practically vibrating in excitement, shakes her head.

“Well, it’s pretty simple, all things considered,” the butch says. “I do most of the driving and balancing. When we go into corners, shift into the curve with the bike. Simple physics, right?”

Holtzmann grins. “Simple physics.”

“Betcha we could solve the problem with our eyes closed.”

They get to the bike. It’s the same big, beautiful bike had shown her back at the townhouse. Connie unclips the carabiner on her belt loop and bends to unlock one of the saddlebags on the side. “You’ll be usin’ Becca’s helmet, okay?”

Becca’s helmet. Rebecca’s helmet. _Dr. Rebecca Gorin’s motorcycle helmet._ Holtz’s grin gets wider. “Yeah, okay.”

Connie flips it over and shows her the straps that adjust the size on the inside. Holtz puts it on to test fit it, and Connie gets her own and hangs it on the handlebars, then stoops to adjust the bike’s suspension. “Okay, so it’s real simple. I’ll get on and you swing yourself over. Put your foot here.” Connie points to one of the foot pegs. “Feel free to grab my shoulders to steady yourself. Make sure you don’t touch the exhaust. It’ll burn you right through your pants.”

“Do I gotta hold on when we’re ridin’?”

Connie shakes her head. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. The seat’ll keep you from falling off the back.”

Holtzmann bobs her head easily and Connie swings herself on. After a bit of scrabbling, Holtzmann manages to get on as well. The older woman starts the bike and it roars to life underneath them, finally settling into a steady purr that electrifies Holtzmann’s very core.

“Oh, shit.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah!”  Taking her cues from Connie, Holtzmann pulls on her helmet when she does. It helps deaden some of the noise, but the engine still rumbles on. When Connie revs the engine a bit, Holtzmann knows she’s sunk. They aren’t even out of the parking lot yet and she knows: she wants a motorcycle.

“You up for a bit of a ride?”

“Yeah!”

Connie gives her a thumbs up, then pulls out. The ride is about twenty minutes, and a bit cold, but Connie’s body blocks the worst of the wind and Holtzmann spends those twenty carefree minutes dreaming about riding a bike of her own.

The ride ends at the Forest Hill Diner, where Connie carefully parks the bike and kills the engine out front before motioning for Holtzmann to get off. While she does, Connie pulls off her helmet then gets off herself.

“So, what’d you think?”

She knows her grin can’t not take up the entirety of her face, so much it feels like it is splitting it. “That. was. Awesome!”

Connie laughs, loud and joyous. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”

She carries her helmet inside, so Holtzmann does, too. They get seated at a booth in the small diner and open their menus. Connie squints at the laminated pages for a second, then sighs and reached into her breast pocket for her reading glasses.

“What’re you thinkin’ about gettin’?” Connie asks.

“Mmmm, I’m thinking pancakes.”

“Excellent choice,” Connie says, and looks up at with a co-conspiratorial grin. “Don’t tell Rebecca, but I’m gonna order a shake.”

Holtzmann leans across the table with a similar grin. “Why shouldn’t I tell Rebecca?”

“Because she’ll have my head for going outside my doctor-prescribed cholesterol diet.”

Holtzmann tsks. “Who could blame ya? Don’t worry, I’ll protect your secret. I know how scary Rebecca can be.” She pauses. “Actually, for that reason, if she asks me, I’ll probably cave. Better your head than mine.” She grins.

Connie laughs. “Fair enough.”

They end up both ordering pancakes—chocolate chip with whipped cream—a Coke for Holtzmann, and tea for Connie. And Connie’s chocolate milkshake, of course. The waitress brings them their Coke and tea on the double, and as Connie gently tips hot water from the tiny pot over her tea bag she asks,

“So, what’s your story, Holtzmann?”

Holtzmann slurps from her straw. “Whaddya mean?”

“Tell me about your life. What brought you to MIT? Michigan to Boston? That’s quite the move.”

Holtzmann shrugs. “It’s a good school. Can’t really explain why I chose it. Just wanted a change, I guess. A fresh start.”

“Fair enough.” Connie dunks the teabag with her spoon and then turns her full attention back to her. “You miss Michigan?”

She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Nah, not really. I like it here.”

“You made a lot of friends here?”

“Only a few, but I don’t mind. I’ve never needed many friends. My best friend, she’s at Yale right now. Abby. I’ve known her since high school and she’s worth a dozen friends.”

“You get to see her much?”

“Not really. We talk a lot, though.”

“That’s good.” Connie thinks about what else to ask. “You got much family?”

Holtzmann takes another pull from her Coke and drums her fingertips on the table. “Nope. Just a step-dad and a little brother. Half-brother. Whatever. His name’s Luke.”

“How old is he?”

“Eleven.” Holtzmann smiles. “He’s an awesome kid. I don’t miss much about Battle Creek, but I do miss him.”

“That’s great,” Connie says. “What about your step-dad? What’s his name?”

“Mark. He married my mom when I was nine.”

Connie treads carefully. Family can be a sensitive topic. She waits to see if Holtzmann will tell her anything else.

Holtzmann swirls her straw in her glass and doesn’t meet Connie’s eyes. “He’s a good guy. A lot of people hate their step-parents, but I love him. He made my mom really happy and has always done his best to raise me and Luke. I couldn’t ask for a better dad. I never met my father, but honestly, I don’t even care.” She traces a path through the condensation on the side of her glass and smiles a little wistfully. “He’s always been so supportive. When I came out to him, I was all prepared for a fight, and he didn’t bat an eye. Just told me that he loved me and was proud of me.”

Connie smiles warmly. “That’s awesome.” She takes her tea bag out and dumps in a creamer, then stirs with the tiny spoon. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“My mom would’ve been the same way,” Holtzmann says, almost wistfully. “She died when I was fifteen, though. We got in a car accident. I survived it. She didn’t.”

Connie inhales, and looks up from her tea. “Shit. I’m sorry, Holtzmann.”

She gives a half-hearted shrug. “It’s fine. It’ll be ten years ago this summer. Life goes on, I guess. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish she was still around, but life goes on.”

“Tell me about her,” Connie says as she wraps her hands around her mug. “If you want, of course.”

Holtzmann gives a half-smile. “She was...the best mom ever. God, she really was. If I ever have kids, she’s exactly the kind of mom I want to be. She was so cool. She didn’t take any shit and was super real with me, but still protected me. She didn’t give a shit what anybody thought of her and made sure I was the same. She told me that there was nothing more important than being myself. That’s how I know she would’ve been super supportive if I’d had the chance to come out to her.”

Connie smiles and nods encouragingly.

“I thought she was a goddamn superhero when I was a kid,” Holtzmann continues. “I really did. She never had help raising me—at least not until she met Mark—and I don’t think it was easy. She worked her ass off at a factory every day just to put food on the table and still made time for me. Always. She was the odd one out at PTA meetings—she didn’t exactly fit the suburban mom mold—but you can bet your ass she went to every single one and campaigned for more support for kids like me. Hell, she paid out of pocket to have me assessed for giftedness because the school wouldn’t. She was constantly hounding my teachers to give me more work or special projects to do. She never stopped telling me how amazing I was and that I was destined to do great things.”

Holtzmann fiddles with her cutlery, adjusting them so they’re perfectly parallel. Connie takes a sip of her tea and waits.

“I don’t think anyone else is ever going to love me as much as she loved me,” she says quietly. “She never let me forget how much she loved me. She said I was the best thing that had ever happened to her.” Her slight smile fades to seriousness. “Looking back, I can see a lot of things that I didn’t when I was a kid. I think she was struggling more than she let on. I think she pretended that she didn’t need anyone else, but she was _so_ much happier after she met Mark. I think she would’ve rather suffered in silence forever than admit that she needed someone.”

She says the last sentence very quietly, pauses for a moment, and then scrambles out of the booth.

“Sorry, I gotta use the restroom,” she says hurriedly, and then she’s gone before Connie can say anything else.

When she gets back to the booth, she looks fine, like nothing weird happened. Connie is on her phone, but sets it aside when she slides back in. Thankfully, she changes the subject anyway.

“So,” the butch says with a grin, “that girl you were talking to at the lab…”

“Who, Mel? She’s so funny. I’m really not the best person to check over her work but she always insists on having me look it over. She’s _so_ worried about impressing Rebecca. I remember those days.”

Connie raises her eyebrows.

Holtzmann flushes. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Do you?”

“I swear, I never had a crush on your wife. I just looked up to her a lot. She’s so brilliant, y’know?”

Connie can’t help but laugh.

“I’m serious!” Holtzmann says. “I didn’t!”

“Holtzmann…”

“Okay. Fine. Maybe a tiiiiiny crush. Like, in the very beginning, years ago, but not _anymore_ , obviously.”

Connie is still laughing. “What about Mel?”

“What _about_ Mel?”

“You interested in her?”

Holtzmann makes a face. “What? Mel? No.”

“Not your type?”

“She’s not gay,” Holtzmann says confidently, then frowns to herself. “Is she? No. Maybe? I should ask her. Whatever. Doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

Holtzmann freezes. She stares silently at the table for several long seconds.

“Holtzmann doesn’t date,” she says finally.

Connie wonders if she should pry any further. She’s about to reply when their waitress arrives at the table with their plates and Connie’s milkshake. “Ahh, excellent. Thank you.”

She doesn’t ask about it again. She knows Holtzmann will elaborate one day if she wants. “I’ve come to this diner for years. The food is always excellent.”

“And the milkshakes?” Holtzmann asks cheekily.

Connie winks and takes a pull from her straw. The two of them cut into their pancakes with their forks.

“So what about you?” Holtzmann says with her first bite of pancake in her mouth. “What’s _your_ story? You’ve gotta have an interesting life. Tell me about it.”

Connie chuckles and sets her fork down so she can pick up her mug of tea. “Where should I start? I’m fifty-six in May…”

Holtzmann looks thoughtfully at her plate, hesitating like there’s something she has in mind. “I don’t, um…” She scratches her ear. “I don’t know if this is rude to ask, but I...I haven’t met a whole lot of queer folks—no, that’s a lie, I’ve met plenty—well, not for a while now—but I haven’t, y’know, _talked_ to many, and…”

She’s rambling. Clearly nervous. “S’okay,” Connie says with an encouraging smile, “you can ask anythin’.”

“I guess, just...like...when did you first know? And when did you come out? What was it like? Is that too personal?”

Connie lets out a bark of laughter and grins at Holtzmann over her tea. “Not at all. The quintessential coming out story, huh?”

Holtzmann tugs on her ear. “Uh...yeah…”

Connie takes a sip of her tea and sets it down, then cuts another piece of pancake off her stack. “Well...I’m gonna say it’s a lot easier, most of the time, nowadays than it was when I came out. You had a supportive family, yeah? I didn’t. Well, not a first. I knew I was gay...shit, really early on. I don’t know how old I was, but I knew by middle school I’d rather hang with the guys then the girls and work on cars an’ build things then do the nail polish and dress shit.”

Holtzmann nods.

“I grew up Catholic,” Connie continues, “church on Sunday, confession when you did shit that was considered bad, the whole nine. Family was super religious, mom’n dad only stopped havin’ kids when they couldn’t afford any more. I’m the third kid, only girl. So when I didn’t want to do the whole girly girl thing, that was a problem.”

Connie takes a bite of her pancakes and thinks for a second. “Back then, lesbian wasn’t a good word. Dyke, queer, all that shit was bad. It was the sixties. People had started to reclaim those words, but I didn’t know that, I was a kid, and all I knew about was what my family and friends said—none of it was good.”

“Uh huh…”

“I think I knew I was gay by the time Stonewall happened. I was eighteen, had just finished high school, didn’t really know what I wanted to do with myself...and then I read about it in the paper. An’ I felt really guilty—cuz I knew, or I thought I knew, those people were sinners, and were goin’ to hell and all that shit that the church puts into your head. But even as much as I tried to deny it, tried to date boys ‘cuz that’s what my momma wanted...I knew I was like them. I knew I liked girls. And that scared the shit outta me.”

“What’d you do?”

Connie laughs. “Finally screwed up my courage and went to a dyke bar. It took forever, years actually. It’s funny, actually—Becca and I figured out that I actually went to the bar she went to all the time in those days, but I missed her that night. Anyway I walked in there, saw all the butch dykes at the pool tables, and I knew. I wanted more than anythin’ to be like them. But I also knew that my family would have none of that shit.”

The older woman looks out the window and licks her lips. “It was years before I went to another bar. I went to college, got a degree in physics ‘cuz I had liked math and science in school...and then the 70s recession hit. So I worked what I could, odd jobs, enough to keep me moved out of my parents house...and slowly I started to wear what I want, act like I want. Cut my hair shorter, started goin’ to the bars again. That’s how I met Al…”

She trails off for a second. “You don’t know her, probably, but she died last year of cancer. She was a founding member of the Dykes, one of my very close friends…” Connie sighs, and runs a hand through her hair. “Sorry. Anyway, where was I?”

“It was the 70s, you were going to gay bars finally.”

“Dyke bars,” Connie clarifies without any malice. “There sure as shit weren’t any gay boys in the bars I went to.”

Holtzmann laughs.

“So, yeah. The 70s. I had stopped goin’ to church at that point, an my family thought I was fuckin’ crazy for cuttin’ all my hair off. I was startin’ to come into myself though, going to more lesbian events, even gettin’ a girlfriend or two. I got real serious with a girl in the eighties, and it was the height of the AIDs crisis you know, people were bein’ outted left an’ right and we were strugglin’ to take care of the boys, cuz they sure as shit couldn’t take care of themselves… anyway, I met up with my brother for lunch in the city one day. And he was readin’ the paper when I walked up and he said somethin’, I don’t even remember what, about some article about AIDs in the paper. All I remember was it was nasty. An’ I slipped. I told him I didn’t appreciate him sayin’ that shit. And he said, ‘What, you a dyke now?’ And I said ‘yup.’”

Holtzmann’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit, indeed,” Connie laughs. “We didn’t have lunch, needless to say, and he told my whole family.”

“How’d they react?”

“Not great, as can be imagined.” Connie takes another bite of her pancakes and chews slowly. “It was right before the holidays, so I didn’t go, because I wasn’t invited. That hurt. It wasn’t another few years until my younger brother finally called me’n asked if we could talk.”

“Uh huh.” Holtzmann has been neglecting her own pancakes, completely enrapt by the story, but she seems to realize and takes another bite.

“The funniest shit is, I was super out. The only people who didn’t know I was gay was my family. I’m pretty sure my supervisor at Pilgrim knew, cuz I mean, look at me, but I was the only operator who was willin’ to come in early and work late so he gave me a pass. But yeah, they finally found out, an’ after James finally came and talked to me...the rest of the family slowly came around. I think they hoped it was a phase…”

“Pretty long phase.”

Connie grins at her. “Mom was alive long enough to meet Rebecca, and she liked her. My brothers were the easiest to convince, I think. It’s easy to hide stuff from your parents, but your siblin’s always know. I think they all knew, in their ways, long before I ever came out. An’ they all have kids now, so I’m just the cool gay aunt with the motorcycle now.”

“I feel ya,” Holtzmann says. “Not the cool gay aunt part—one day, maybe—but the sibling thing. I’ve never actually come out to Luke...I’m like, 97.3% sure that he knows anyway. If I told him, he’d probably just laugh and say ‘no duh’ and go back to doing whatever he was doing. That’s pretty much what happened when I told my friend Abby.” She laughs quietly. “She said I acted pretty gay, which is true. I haven’t come out to many people. I don’t feel like I really have to; I kinda exude the gay. The only people I’ve officially come out to are Mark and Abby and—”

She breaks off, face darkening again, and shovels a large bite of pancake into her mouth as if to stop herself from saying anything more.

“Anyway,” she says hurriedly, mouth still full, “I guess I’m lucky to have had the experience I’ve had. I know it could’ve been a lot different—a lot worse. It is for lots of people.” She pauses, fork halfway to her mouth with another bite. “Thank you for telling me your story, Connie.”

“‘Course,” Connie says with an easy smile. “Thank you for tellin’ me yours.”

They finish up the rest of their meal and then ride back to the lab, where Holtzmann thanks her excessively and toddles back to her work like a child after Christmas morning, deliriously happy but slightly drained of adrenaline and any and all excess energy.

Connie and Rebecca convene by the door, just beyond the plastic that separates the main lab from the vestibule. The butch leans against the frame of one of the open double doors as her wife gives her a stern look.

“No more stealing my grad student for hours at a time,” Rebecca warns her wife. “Two and a half hours is definitely over the allotted hour lunch break.”

Connie grins and gently pecks her wife on the temple. “Like you’ve never taken a longer break before.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes.

“I’ll see ya at home?”

“Mmm,” Rebecca intones, and accepts another kiss from her wife before she pulls away to head home.

 


	5. nights out with the people I love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holtzmann's first pride with the Dykes :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays from Maddie and Ty! We hope you enjoy this flufffy oneshot set at Boston Pride in 2007! The title was inspired by the song 'Pride' written and performed by the American Authors.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains maximum gay and more OCs than you can shake a stick at. If you've forgotten who all of Ty's crazy Dykes on Bikes and DOB adjacents are, you can brush up [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11552031/chapters/25943745).

**June 2007**

>   ** _Connie Williams:_ ** _Hey! This is Connie._
> 
> **_Connie Williams:_ ** _Meet us at the corner of Boylston and Clarendon at 4p. We open the parade so we’ll be right at the front. Can’t miss us :)_

Holtzmann checks her phone for the millionth time as she loiters on the curb. Barricades line the street all down Clarendon, and there are five or six bikes already lined up along the block off mouth of Boylston. Connie, Rebecca, and Connie’s beautiful 1988 Harley Heritage Softail are nowhere to be found, but a sturdy little butch of a woman with greying hair and a red bandana tied around her head is helping zip tie a pvc pipe with a flag attached to the back of a shiny, fire-engine red cruiser. There is a woman helping her; butch, tall, also greying, and wearing a clerical collar and tight leather pants.

Holtzmann’s stomach does a strange sort of flutter and twist.  

“You aren’t Holtzmann, are ya?”

Holtzmann turns around to see a petite blonde, shorter even than her, smiling at her. She blinks. “Uh, yeah.” She pauses. “Who are you?”

“Connie said to keep an eye out for you,” the woman says brightly. “I’m Andrea, Jack’s wife.” She nods towards the two butches over by the red cruiser, but the movement does not clarify which one is Jack. “C’mon over! We’re just settin’ up now.”

“Are you sure?”

“We don’t bite,” Andrea says encouragingly. “Rebecca’n Connie’ll be here any second. Come meet everyone, we’re all dyin’ to know more about you.”

“More?” Holtzmann repeats to herself in wonderment.

Andrea laughs and takes her over to the motorcycle the two women are working on. “Hey, baby, Holtzmann’s here.”

The shorter woman looks up from the pipe and grins around the zip tie gripped in between her teeth. “No way! Hey!” She straightened up and took the tie out of her mouth, then extended a hand. “Jack Eun-Li, nice to finally meet ya.”

“Have Rebecca and Connie been talking about me?” Holtzmann would crack a joke, but she’s a little flustered by the coolness radiating from all of them. They can’t possibly be as excited to meet her as she is to meet them.

The taller woman laughs. “Yeah, and it’s been great not to be Rebecca’s favorite complaining topic anymore. I’m Max.” She holds out her hand and Holtz shakes it, too.

“Nice. Whose bike is this?”

“Mine,” Max says with a smile, reaches over to tighten the cable tie Jack had already put on.

“I’m the Honda Valkyrie,” Jack says, and gestures over to where Andrea had gone to lean more PVC pipes against a black motorcycle that looks like if Connie’s touring bike and softail had had a sleek black and chrome baby. The motorcycle is already outfitted with two large flags; a white one with the Dykes of Bikes logo, and one with the rainbow flag.

Just then, the rumble of a motorcycle engine cut into their conversation, and Connie’s _actual_ softail pulled around the corner--complete with Rebecca and Connie on it.

Holtzmann’s jaw drops.

Connie looks like the picture of butch perfection in her matte black bucket helmet, wrap around sunglasses, and black leather vest and chaps that are not only studded to match each other, but to match her bike. She pulls forward, then kills the engine and backs the bike up with Jack playing the role of motorcycle marshall. Holtzmann gets to see the rainbow engine design embroidered on the back of her vest.

And then there’s Rebecca. Dr. Rebecca Gorin, her mentor, on the back of her wife’s motorcycle. It’s almost too much for Holtzmann to handle. Rebecca gets off the bike first and pulls off her helmet; the engineer, in deference to what was most likely her wife’s persuasion, had twisted her hair up differently than she wears it in the lab. She’s wearing practical boots, but otherwise looks like she could be ready for any other ordinary day in her lab.

“Hey, Moms, your baby dyke is here.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes at Jack, then turns and nods at her protege. “Jillian.”

Holtzmann wants to hide her face behind her hands to control her grin. “Hi.”

“Hey, Holtz, thanks for comin’,” Connie says with a grin, and reaches over for a one armed hug. Holtzmann is struck with the inexplicable urge to cry. She is dimly aware that Rebecca slips off to the side to greet Andrea, but she only has eyes for Connie and her beautiful motorcycle, the motorcycle that in just an hour or two Holtzmann will be riding on the back of.

Jack goes in for a hug and Connie thuds her hard on the back. “Hey, buddy, good to see ya. Jamie get in alright?”

“Yup, she pulled in last night just in time for dinner.”

“Great, can’t wait to see her.” Connie turns to Holtzmann, who is having trouble taking her eyes off Connie’s motorcycle. “You wanna help me set her up?”

“Yeah!”

Connie gestures her over and they pick two poles from where they are leaning against Jack’s bike. Holtzmann takes control of them as if she has been given the keys to the universe itself. “What flags are we flyin’?”

“Two rainbow Dykes on Bikes flags,” Connie replies with pride, and pulls them out of her saddlebag. As she leans forward, Holtzmann can see Connie is wearing a necklace with metallic rainbow pipe beads separated by orbital onyx ones. It’s the only rainbow on her, but Holtzmann supposes she’s gay enough just by existing.

The two slide the flags onto the pvc and secure them with zip ties, then zip tie the poles to the back of what will be Holtzmann’s seat. As they are working, a few more bikes join the crew, including a dark blue one with a sidecar and an Israeli and bisexual pride flag flying side by side off the back.

“What’s good, butches?!”

“Ey, Jessie!” someone shouts, and Holtz watches as the rider pulls off their helmet to reveal a rainbow mohawk and a face she recognizes.

“I’ve seen her before,” Holtzmann says, and remembers vividly the woman and two others framed against the backdrop of her bar’s tiny stage. “She plays bass.”

Connie looks up from her saddlebag, surprised. “How d’you know that?”

“Her band has played at the bar I work at. She always orders a pina colada with extra rum, and asks for two umbrellas.”

“That sounds like Jessie.” Connie holds out her hand. “Here.”

Holtz blinks and opens her hand; Connie drops a box of earplugs in it. “What’re these for?”

“You’ll need ‘em, trust me.”

“Okay.” Holtzmann pockets the earplugs and looks over at Rebecca, who is talking to a few other women (and Andrea) who have materialized since they worked on the bike. “I didn’t realize that Rebecca knew this many people.”

Connie laughs. “If she had her way, she wouldn’t.”

Holtzmann grins. “There’s so much I don’t know about her.”

“Well, no time like the present.”

Holtzmann looks at Connie sideways. “I don’t think she’d answer.”

“You never know, you might catch her in a good mood.”

“You’re usually in a better mood than her.”

Connie laughs and inclines her head in acknowledgement. “You got me there.”

Holtz shrugs and thrusts her hands in her pockets. She watches as Rebecca interacts with the others, and actually smiles a bit (softly, barely noticeable, not nearly the same kind of smile that she has with Connie). It’s so incongruous with the Rebecca she knows.

“How long have you been doing this, again?”

“Jack’n me founded Dykes on Bikes in 1989,” Connie says proudly, then straightens up and hooks her fingers in the belt loops of her jeans.

“I meant you and Rebecca.”

“Oh right. Mmm, she started coming to parties right after we got outed. So...1994? Which is fifteen-ish years. Yeah, that’s about right.”

“You’ve known all these people since then?”

Connie shakes her head. “Not me. Becca has. She goes way back with Max and Jessie. She knew them in the seventies.”

“She’s been friends with them all this time?”

The butch hedges. “It’s...complicated. That’s not my story to tell.”

Holtzmann huffs, but accepts the fact if she ever wants that story, she’ll have to get it out of Rebecca, or someone else without Connie’s strong moral fibre. “Okay. So how long you known ‘em?”

“I’ve known Jack, ‘Drea, and Jessie since the eighties. Max when she came back to Boston in the early nineties.”

“Came back?”

“She’s from Baltimore, originally.”

“Huh.”

“We’ve got a coupla transplants. Jack, Andrea, and Jame are all from North Carolina. Arielle’s from Puerto Rico. Jacqueline’s from Chicago, and Sam’s from Seattle.” Connie pauses, then smiles. “And now you.”

Holtzmann feels her heart skitter, then swell. It would have been an unsettling feeling, had she not been made so fucking happy by that statement. “But I’m not even--”

“Oh, don’t worry, I can tell by the way you’ve been lookin’ at these bikes you’ll have your own soon enough.” Connie smiles at her. “You’ll just be our hangaround until you get one.”

A pause. “Is Rebecca a member?”

Connie nods. “Yup. She’s an associate on the books, but to be honest she’s basically our Enforcer. Nobody breaks the rules with her on their backs.”

Holtzmann blinks and lets this information sink in. “No vest, though?”

Connie grimaces. “She doesn’t like the attention the club brings. She’s got one, and she’ll wear it on rides, but at Pride she likes to stay out of the spotlight.”

“Classic Dr. Gorin move. You think she’ll ever ride in the parade with you?”

“If only.”

Rebecca rejoins them suddenly as if she’s been listening the whole time. "You can convince me to do many things, my dear, but that is absolutely never going to be one of them."

“Come on, _Becca_ ,” Holtzmann teases. “Live a little. It’s Pride!”

“I’ve been doing this since before you were born,” Rebecca reminds her dryly.

“Blatantly untrue,” Holtzmann says. “Connie _just_ said 1994. I’m young, but not that young.”

Rebecca gazes at her.

“Yeah, alright, fine, point taken,” Holtzmann mutters.

Rebecca turns to her wife. “Jack is talking to some parade officials. Apparently there are some cars still on the route that need to be towed.”

Connie sighs. “Of course there are.”

“Max is going around collecting ride money from non-club members.”

“Good.”

Holtzmann startles and immediately pats herself down for her wallet. “Shit, I’m not a member. How much do I owe you?”

Connie waves her off. “Don’t worry kid, I paid for you already.”

“You didn’t have to--”

“Of course we did, we invited you,” Rebecca snaps, then crosses her arms and looks over the assembling crowd of queer bikers. “Ah, and there’s Jamie.”

Connie and Holtzmann look towards the newest arrival, a tall, toned butch around Holtzmann’s age wearing a Dykes vest covered in EMT patches. The woman’s full sleeve tattoos spark a memory--she’s seen her at the bar. Once when she was on duty, when her bus came to patch up the victims of a fight, but she’s also seen her off duty, those tattooed arms curled around an African American woman in box braids on open-mic nights.

“I know her, too,” Holtzmann says with realization. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”

“You wouldn’t,”  Rebecca replies, “she moved to Chicago last year.”

“That would explain it.”

Connie checks her watch. “That the last of us, right? We’re set to roll in twenty.”

“If they get the roads cleared.”

Connie sighs. “Lemme go talk to Jack.” She lumbers off to find her, leaving Rebecca and Holtzmann alone together by the bike.

Holtzmann shifts slightly uncomfortably. Sure, she’s been alone with Rebecca hundreds of times, but not in a situation like this. There’s nothing to take apart or put together or something to solve to distract her. She wiggles her fingers anxiously and tries to look anywhere but at her mentor.

“If you’re going to buy your own motorcycle after this, you can’t be as reckless on it as you are in the lab,” Rebecca says suddenly. “Recklessness gets riders killed, do you understand?”

“Whaaaat? I’m not gonna be _reckless_ \--”

Rebecca cuts her off with a glare. “Predictability is the most important thing in riding a motorcycle, and you are nothing if not unpredictable. You have a history of it. Behaving in a reckless manner is how you get yourselves and your fellow riders killed. The rest of the group might be accepting of you, and will welcome you with open arms when you finally have the credentials to join, but if you violate any rules of the road I will not give you any special dispensation. I will have your membership terminated just as I do with any other rider who think they are above the law and our bylaws. Do I make myself clear?”

Holtzmann swallows. Then nods.

“Good.” Rebecca looks over to where Connie and Jack are deep in conversation with a parade official. “Please tell Connie I am going to find a space in the crowd.”

Holtzmann nods again.

“Enjoy the ride,” Rebecca says stiffly, then without another word weaves off through the bikes towards the start point.

“Looks like you just got some tough Becca Gorin love,” a voice says, and Holtzmann looks over to see Jessie standing next to her with a small box full of stickers. “It’s rough, ain’t it?”

Holtzmann laughs. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Oh, trust me, I got plenty of it when I dated her.” Jessie proffers the box out to Holtzmann.

Holtzmann stares, not at the stickers but at Jessie. Rebecca dated _her_?! This woman, in all her punk rock, mohawked glory? It only reinforces further that there are so many things about Dr. Gorin she doesn’t know.

“You’re ridin’ bitch on Connie’s bike, right?” Jessie asks. “Take some stickers. We’ll hand em out along the parade route.”

Holtzmann numbly takes a fist full, and stuffs them in the pocket of her cargo shorts. Next to Jessie’s ripped jeans, heart-shaped rainbow nipple pasties, and mesh top, she feels significantly underdressed. She really needs to get more Pride gear, especially if she is going to make this a regular occurance. Her tacky Hawaiian shirt that she bought for a dollar at the thrift store just isn’t cutting it. The only thing gay about her are the pins on her shirt and the one rainbow sock sticking out of the top of her combat boot. Also, you know, her personality.

Jessie seems to read her mind. “My boy is passing out glitter. You want some?”

Holtzmann thinks. “I’m not really a glitter person...but it’s Pride, so...fuck yeah.”

Jessie calls out to her partner, and an African American man with blue hair and a septum ring comes over. “Hey baby, this is the baby dyke Becca and Wills adopted. It’s Holtzmann, right?”

“Sure is.”

“Nice to meet you, Holtzmann. I’m Theo.”

“Nice shirt.”

Theo looks down at his shirt, which is a blue floral print that matches his hair. “Thanks. You, too!”

“Holtzmann works at The V and is ridin’ with Connie. She wants to be glittered up, so I say we glitter the _fuck_ out of this baby dyke.”

Theo laughs loudly and reaches into his bag, then pulls out an assortment of tubes filled with various rainbow shades of glitter. “Pick a color.”

Holtzmann picks the yellow glitter, which seems to be the least picked option, and Theo helps her in selectively dumping it in her hair and across her shirt. Connie comes over just as they are finishing up.

“Becca is never going to let you in the house like that,” she says with some mirth once she sees what is going on.

“Well, I’m ridin’ with you, and you’re her wife, so she’s just gonna have to get over it once you’re infected by it!” Holtzmann gesticulates expansively, sending bits of glitter everywhere.

Jessie roars with laughter. “I like this kid, Wills.”

Connie grins. “So do I. Now get ready to go, we’ll be rollin’ shortly.”

Jessie gives her a little salute and wanders over to her bike with Theo holding her hand. Holtzmann watches as Jessie gives a dark-haired Latina femme a kiss on the mouth, and the three of them start to get Jessie’s bike ready to go.

“Alright, Dykes, we’re heading out in five!” Jack calls out to the assembled mass of motorcyclists. “Let’s get ready to roll!”

“C’mon, kiddo,” Connie says, “we’re at the front so we gotta pull out first.”

Holtz nods and Connie opens a saddle bag to store the helmets in. Holtzmann blinks. “We aren’t wearin’ those?”

“Nah, we don’t have to wear ‘em for the parade. After, though, we gotta put ‘em on.”

Holtzmann feels her stomach twist with excitement as Connie fiddles with the bike suspension, then gets on and gestures for her to do the same. Gingerly, Holtzmann climbs aboard and finds the pegs for her feet. She’s glad the seat is there to keep her from sliding off the back.

“You good?” Connie asks.

“Yup.”

“Alright. Might wanna put in those earplugs now.”

Holtzmann is about to ask why when several engines roar to life simultaneously. It’s deafeningly loud, even for her. She winces and fishes the pair out that Connie had given her. It is still loud after they are in, but tolerably so. Connie starts her bike, and it rumbles to life underneath them.

She gets that feeling again, the one she felt when Connie took her on a ride to the diner. It feels like her veins are full of electricity. The rumble of the other bike engines reverberates through her chest and it keys her up until she’s jiggling a foot on the bike’s foot peg. If they don’t go soon she might explode.

Jack and Andrea get on Jack’s bike next to them, and Max mounts hers on the other side. Jack arches back to check on something, and finding whatever it is to her satisfaction, starts her bike. In just a few seconds, they are moving forward, towards the start where parade officials and police are standing. Connie takes it nice and easy.

They roll to a stop, waiting for the go ahead, and Holtzmann spots Rebecca in the crowd. She’s got her arms crossed over her chest and looks as impassive as ever despite the revelry going on around her. Holtz taps Connie’s shoulder and points her out. Connie shoots her a thumbs up, and Rebecca nods, once, and a small smile appears on her face.

Holtz barely has time to linger over it, because the officials wave them forward and Jack pulls out to lead the Dykes; Connie, Max, and another African American woman Holtzmann doesn’t know the name of keep hot on her heels. The feeling of shooting down a street, lined with hundreds of people in rainbow gear, cheering and yelling and throwing confetti and holding up signs is surreal.

The roar of the crowds, the engine, the wind in her hair...she could get drunk off this feeling. These are her people. For the first time in a long time, in her whole life, maybe, she feels like she’s where she’s supposed to be. Like she _belongs_.

To say it’s been a rough five years would be the biggest understatement of the century.

She realizes as they turn down Tremont Street and are met with more of the same thunderous crowd that she can place what this feeling is. It’s hope.

She feels hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug: Like what you saw? More of Ty's spiraling OC madness can be found at [The Gallaro Equation](https://archiveofourown.org/series/903645) . :)


End file.
